analogbasilisk

“You are moving pretty good for a dead man,” Lyra mumbled.

“Fuck off, mutt,” Glenn mumbled back.

Lyra wasn’t wrong, she knew it. Glenn was dead, had been dead for a little over a century at this point. But she was wrong for calling him a man, Glenn was barely a boy if you ask her. It wasn’t even a nature thing, the whole vampires and werewolves were mortal enemies bullshit. Her natural animosity with the ice machine was much more real.

She didn’t like Glenn.

If you ask her, it started when she heard of a new wannabe hero in her turf. There was only enough space for one non-human vigilante in town, and Lyra had been doing that shit for over a year at this point. Who the fuck Glenn thought he was to make himself present in her territory? Lyra wasn’t a regular werewolf, but she was territorial enough to want to tear this walking corpse apart.

The fact that Stohl had been pissed off at her for her late-night activities but barely frowned at Glenn’s didn’t help at all. They weren’t even in a first-name basis! Why Lyra’s little heroic side-hustle was worthy of the silent treatment? And all Glenn got was a semi-amused smirk like she was entertained instead of pissed off.

Lyra was childish for it, Glenn was amusing for it.

Really fucking unfair.

At least, Glenn seemed to dislike her as much as she disliked him and without a clear reason. At the moment, she had quite the clear reason to dislike him. Her plan had been to take a nap, maybe two hours long, before forcing herself to sit and actually finish one of her growing piles of assignments. But Glenn had to be lounging on Stohl’s bed when she got to the shared bedroom, Lyra was not risking closing her eyes for longer than a fraction of second when the most annoying bloodsucker in existence was in the same room as her.

It didn’t matter if she really needed a nap, and maybe borrowing Stohl’s bruise salve. The night hadn’t been the worst, but a fiasco or two and her back and sides looked like they were dropped in black and purple paint.

Lyra had found her study playlist among her collection of Spotify playlists, one of those quite generic lo-fi hip hop ones, when Stohl entered the room. Lyra turned in time to see the nightmare fuelling scene of Stohl and Glenn kissing. The boy pouted when Stohl didn’t allow it to turn into a full making out scene. Thank god for small mercies.

“Saroyan,” Lyra almost jumped when Stohl stopped by her side, a hand on the back of her chair.

“Yes?”

“You should be resting.”

“Why’s that?”

“A little bird told me they were almost mugged last night and one of the town’s vigilantes stopped it. Heard something about being thrown against a concrete and a few hits.”

“Hey, I’m one of the town’s vigilantes!” Glenn protested. Stohl turned to him. “You could check me first.”

“Look, princess, I love you and all. But the bird described their saviour as build like a rugby pro player. You’re pretty and built like a Victorian sickly child,” she made a gesture towards Lyra’s shoulders. “She fits the description.”

Lyra tried to not preen at the… praise? Observation. She might have been socialised as a human for seventeen years and counting, but her werewolf side wasn’t that suppressed. And werewolves instinctively liked to be praised for their physical prowess.

“Are you injured?” Stohl’s attention was back to her, Lyra could almost smell Glenn’s jealousy. God forbid Stohl not being his babysitter all the time.
“Just a little bruised, I’m fine.”

“If you want to see me naked, pay me dinner or something first.”

“Saroyan.”

“I’m not taking off any clothes,” Stohl cocked her head and than turned to Glenn.

“Here, go grab yourself some blood and being me snacks. Salt and vinegar chips, strawberry cake and a pack of pink lemonade,” she all but shoved the card onto his hands.

“But- really? You really need to see Saroyan half-naked?”

“No, I need to check her bruises. I would like to not have my roommate whining from pain all night long. I’ll compensate you later, ok?”

“Fine.”

He took his sweet minute to kiss Stohl, tongue action and all, before leaving. Lyra waited a minute before taking off her sweatshirt. It was weird, Stohl showing any signs of caring.

“You hate strawberry cake,” Lyra commented as she let Stohl guide her to her feet. “And you said you prefer regular lemonade.”

“And? You’re hurt, you’re entitled to a snack.”

“I thought you hated my “heroic bullshit”.”

“I do, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Your back looks awful.”

“It looks worse than it feels.”

“I’m putting some salve on you nonetheless. You can take a nap if you want to.”

“I’m not taking a nap with a bloodsucker in my room.”

“Our room. Alright. I planned to do some reading anyways.”

“Oh. Ok then.”

Stohl being overall nice still felt weird. The change bad been almost abrupt, after the “impalement incident” – it sounded worst than it was, a pure-breed werewolf could handle a iron spike that didn’t hit any major organs or arteries. She wasn’t gentle, or ever called Lyra, well, Lyra. And still complained about wet dog smell.

But this? Ditching her boyfriend just because it would help Lyra? That was new, almost a declaration of “no, I don’t hate you, fucking”.

The salve was spreaded evenly, the cooling effect immediately soothing the full ache. Stohl took a sweet moment to wrap soft bandages around her torso and shoo-ed her to bed. Stohl checking the blankets was borderline tucking her in.

Lyra curled up in a comfortable position, head almost fully covered by her blanket. She heard Glenn coming back, the hushed brief conversation. He whined a little, but accepted that he wasn’t getting anything tonight. Or anything more than the bottle of overpriced synthetic blood.

Lyra fell asleep hearing the calming sound of Stohl’s breathing.